à la prochaine

My chest crumbles like rice crispies imbued with whisky
And sent past the stars to sparkle in another’s time-playground,
How many dust balls did I gather here that my throat is choked?
What pollen fallen under my lids that makes them wet anew?
Whose hands did I grasp in my own that my life lines are blurred,
And the path charred like a winter’s fire when spring uncurls under the bed?
It’s hotter here and yet the chills crawl around my chest like
The warm embrace of an old friend;
A past climate settling into this present’s land.
Are my feet not sore yet, have they not bled enough
From the miles I put between myself
And the treasures I stumbled across?

Posted in Art

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